I’m not sure where I read it or heard it or thought of it, but there is a saying that lives in my brain that goes: “If you don’t leave this world looking a little weathered, you haven’t lived hard enough.” I think about this all the time. I see it in the wrinkles of my elders, the water lines on the trees that mark the coming and going of a big flood, and in the charm of an old (boat)house. They all have stood through some shit, and I am here to admire.
Social media is weird. It is often filled with snapshots of “pretty” parts of a life. People love to use filters that take away their perceived flaws. I’m not here to tell anyone how to be, but I really miss seeing wrinkles and scars.
We have an old blind raccoon on the island. One eye is missing and the other is opaque. She still knows her way around. She goes to my neighbor’s boathouse every night to find a little food. She seems resilient and industrious and wise. If that raccoon could talk, I would happily sit down and listen.
Tomorrow is my birthday- the final day of 2020. I love this about my birthday, that my new age also marks a new year.
As I walked the island a few days ago, I took note of all the pieces marked by time: the beaver chewed trees, the exposed roots from erosion, the water lines from flooding, the way trees grow slanted from years of wind patterns, and the brush piles of invasive buckthorn.
I thought about how everything that’s good gets marked up by time and experience- the trees, long relationships, your favorite pair of shoes. I wondered about the experiences of the blind raccoon and how she has had to adapt. I thought about us, the humans, how we have had to adapt. I wonder how we will move forward in the coming years with the experiences that 2020 has brought us.
I see that people like to look past the reminders of hardship. The evidence of erosion, floods, and invasive species that I see on a routine walk are often ignored. I wish we could all step forward without the filters- embracing the wrinkles and scars and flood lines, talking about them, learning from them, and honoring them.
Tomorrow, I will have lived on this earth for 32 full years. More and more, I am appreciating the weathered parts of me, even the breastfeeding boobs that have inevitably developed some sag; they’ve earned it. Cheers to another year of living full and hard and wearing the wear and tear like a badge of honor, unfiltered and honest, like an old blind raccoon.